


Chips and Cribs

by whatislife



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Mpreg, Weight Issues, a very tiny amount of angst, just a little bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-07 18:12:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18878551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatislife/pseuds/whatislife
Summary: “What do you mean there are no chips,” Jonny asks from where he is standing by the island, hand resting on his stomach. “Weren’t they on the list? Did you not buy them?”(Patrick just wants to sleep.)





	Chips and Cribs

There are...no potato chips in the house.

Patrick has checked the cabinets, the living room couch and table, and even the fridge because Jonny has been misplacing things more and more often. But nope, no potato chips sitting next to the cheeses.

“What do you mean there are no chips,” Jonny asks from where he is standing by the island, hand resting on his stomach. “Weren’t they on the list? Did you not buy them?”

Patrick makes a disgruntled noise, opening the cabinet up one more time to see if any chips have suddenly appeared.

“Yes, yes, I bought them,” he says, closing the cabinet and turning back to face Jonny.“I bought so many chips, I’m scared Visa is going to think a 12 year old stole our card and cancel it.”

Patrick is pretty sure Jonny is trying to glare him into submission, but even if Jonny’s glares had ever worked on him they certainly didn’t now, eight months pregnant, wearing only a robe and stripped boxers.

“Then where are they,” Jonny asks.

If Patrick was a little more awake, if he hadn’t just gotten back from a depressing road trip out to California, if it hadn’t literally been 2am, he might have noticed how Jonny’s voice cracks a little.

But he doesn’t, so without thinking he snaps back.

“Jon, I don’t know, I’m not the one who is eating two bags of chips each day.”

He regrets it almost immediately when he looks up from trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes to see Jonny’s lips pursed in a way that means he is trying not to cry and not really succeeding.

“Oh Jesus,” Patrick sighs, suddenly remembering that while he is tired, he’s at least has been able to sleep while Jonny really hasn’t been for the last few months.“Jonny, hey,” he starts, but before he can start in on any apologies, Jonny is turning on his heels and stalking out the kitchen.

Patrick gives himself a minute to remember how excited he was for bed two hours ago, before he had gotten home and been intercepted in the kitchen by Jonny demanding chips. He rubs his hand over his face one more time, before sighing heavily and grabbing the keys back off the counter. There's a 24/7 gas station a few blocks away, they should have chips.

By the time he’s keying back into the apartment, its nearing 3am and he is asleep on his feet. If he has to fall asleep with Jonny eating chips in bed next to him, he is willing to do that. Waking up with crumbs in his hair feels like a small price to pay in order to just get to bed.

But Jonny isn’t in the kitchen, and he isn’t in the living room, or in the bedroom. Patrick finally finds him in the half complete baby’s room, rocking in the rocking chair the Sharps had given them, flipping through what looks like one of the French picture books his mom had sent them.

It would be a nice sight, had it not been three in the fucking morning, and had Jonny not been very obviously just finished crying.

“Hey,” Patrick says softly from where he is leaning against the doorframe, and then again a little bit louder to get Jonny to look up from the book. “I got the chips, lets go to bed.”

Jonny shakes his head, and goes back to flipping through what Patrick can clearly see now is the french version of that inane mouse book.

Patrick takes a second to take two deep breaths and remember that Jonny was the love of his life and currently doing the very important job of growing their child, before speaking again.

“No to the chips or no to bed?”

Jonny shook his head again. “No to both.”

“No to-Jon, it’s 3am,” Patrick pleads, “you can eat the chips in bed, let’s just go.”

Jonny shook his head again, and Patrick resisted the urge to scream.

“I don’t want the chips anymore,” Jonny says, still acting as if he were intrigued by whether or not the mouse ate a cookie. “And I won’t be able to sleep much anyways.”

That seemed to be all he wanted to say on the subject, because Patrick stared at him for a solid minute from the doorway, but he stayed silent.

The sleep thing might be true, but Jonny still normally made a go of it, and the chip thing was definitely false.

Patrick sighed heavily for what had to be the fourth time that night, took a second to wonder when his life had gotten to this point, and if he was ever going to get to sleep, before stepping carefully over the half constructed crib. He sat down gingerly on the stool meant for a toddler set up next to the chair, valiantly pretending that he couldn’t hear his knees crack.

“Okay,” he says, nudging Jonny’s leg to try and get him to look up from the mouse. “What’s wrong?”

Jonny didn’t look up from his book, but he did wave his hand dismissively at Patrick. “Nothing is wrong. I know you want to go to sleep, so go to sleep.”

He did really, really want to go to sleep, but he had just spent a week sleeping without Jonny kicking him throughout the night and stealing all the blankets and he didn’t want to do that again if he didn’t have to.

“Come on,” he says, reaching out to grab Jonny’s waving hand with his own. “Tell me what’s wrong, I’ll fix it and then we can both go to bed.”

It seemed simple to Patrick. Maybe Jonny wanted a different type of chips, or something completely different to eat. Whatever it was, Patrick could get it and then they could go to bed. Maybe, if he was lucky, they would even get to bed before the sun rose.

Jonny didn’t seem to agree, pulling his hand away from Patrick’s and finally snapping the stupid book shut.

“You can’t fix the fact that I’m getting fat,” he says sharply, still avoiding Patrick’s gaze.

And, oh okay, they were doing this now then. Patrick had been wondering if they ever would. Jonny had taken such pride in his body before, had been undeniably proud of how he looked. And he probably had gained a little more weight then average throughout the pregnancy, though Patrick would rather die than say that out loud to anyone.

He must have taken too long to come up with an answer, because Jonny kicks his shin hard enough to hurt.

“Say something,” he demands.

Patrick rubs at his leg. He opens his mouth for a second, but then closes it again because he isn’t quite sure about how to go about this. He can’t stop thinking about the time his sister had come back from college a tiny, tiny bit heavier then she had been at the start of the year. It had barely been noticeable, but she had not stopped pestering the whole family about whether she gained weight or not.

Finally, his dad had snapped and said yes. She had stormed off to her room and hadn’t talked to any of them for the rest of July. Patrick is pretty sure that a similar fate could awaited him if he answered this question incorrectly.

“Okay,” he started. “First of all, you aren’t fat.” Jonny makes a protesting noise, but Patrick shushes him. “I know, it’s different then what your used to, but I promise it’s fine. You should be eating things that don’t make you want to puke, even if those things are potato chips.”

“I can’t do anything like this,” Jonny says weakly. “I can’t play hockey, I can’t move quickly, I can’t even sleep.”

“Jon-”

“I know, this is a happy time, we are so blessed, blah, blah blah, blah blah,” Jonny snaps. “But I am so tired of being tired and fat and sitting here watching, like domino fail videos on Youtube while you get to go play hockey.”

“Jon, you have to know-”

“And,” Jonny continues, ignoring any attempt Patrick makes at interrupting him. It’s probably for the best because he isn’t even sure what he would say.“And, my mom keeps calling me and asking if I have eaten my vegetables, and when I want them to come out here, and I haven’t been and I don’t want them to come.”

Jonny kind of peters out there at the end, seemingly running out of things to say, but that is fine because he has already said more than he has in the last eight months. He had been taking all the changes that came with pregnancy with a kind of level headedness that Patrick had never seen from him and was frankly surprising.

Patrick had been expecting him to snap that week where everything had made him cry, up to and including particularly cute dogs in the courtyard, but if it took chips and Patrick being stupid about what he said for Jonny to stop pretending everything was okay, then so be it.

“Jon, your fine,” Patrick says, trying to sound calming and reassuring. He was afraid he just sounded tired, but whatever this would have to do. “The doctor said your fine, the baby is healthy, and in two months we are going to get to hold them and this will all be a distant memory.”

‘This will all be a distant memory’ had been their refrain during the months where Jonny had been puking everything he ate. Jonny had even gone so far as to tape a photo of the first ultrasound they had on the wall by the toilet to look at while he was throwing up.

Patrick moved the stool a little bit closer, so he could rest his hands on Jonny’s bump. He could feel his kid moving around in there, and it was amazing to think that in just over a month they would actually have a baby. A little baby that was all the best things about Jonny and Patrick combined. Jesus Christ, they really needed to finish setting up the crib.

The things that Jonny was sacrificing for them to have a baby...it was incredible. Incredible and undeniably a little scary. If the positions were reversed, Patrick didn’t know if he would be able to do it, but Jonny had always been the braver one.

“You just need to be brave for a few more weeks,” Patrick says, rubbing soft circles Jonny’s stomach in an effort to calm the baby down.

“And then a lot of pain as they cut me open,” Jonny says, but his lips are starting to quirk up a little bit and he looks less like crying.

“And then a baby.”

Jonny was full on smiling now, and so was Patrick.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “And then a baby.”

They sat there, two loons in a half completed nursery at 3am, smiling at each other like fools, for another moment before anyone spoke again.

“Hey, you did kind of fix it,” Jonny says. “And you kind of calmed the baby down.”

“See,” Patrick says proudly. “I can fix everything.”

Jonny snorts, because he can never let Patrick feel too proud for too long.

“What about the garbage disposal? It still makes that clanking noise.”

“Nope,” Patrick says quickly, standing up and reaching down to help pull Jonny up. “I will not discuss with you why that sound is normal and not a reason to call a plumber again.”

Jonny snorts for a second time, but stays silent and lets Patrick lead him over the crib and out of the nursery. They make it into the bedroom, and Patrick can see the bed, can almost taste sleep, when Jonny suddenly stops moving. Patrick manfully resists the urge to scream a little.

“Yes,” he asks, trying to sound calm and helpful and like he is willing to do anything for Jonny. He doesn’t really feel those things right now, but he should at least sound them.

“The chips,” Jonny says, “we left them in the nursery.”

**Author's Note:**

> Patrick, standing next to the garbage disposal: I've fixed it.  
> Jonny: You didn't fix shit.  
> Patrick: I fixed the garbage disposal.


End file.
